


Shut Up

by Deviant



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Derek Hale, M/M, Top Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:31:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deviant/pseuds/Deviant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is frustrating, keeps all his cards to himself, and has a major stick up his ass.  This is not a Stiles-loves-Derek story.  This is a grumpy-barely-compatible-wish-you-would-stop-talking story.  This is Stiles tired of shit.  This is them trying to get something back that they lost.  Top Stiles, bottom Derek.  Established friends-with-benefits relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fighting

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this came about because I read a lot of fics where Stiles is hopeless, needs to be rescued, tripping all over himself whenever Derek is involved, but not many where Stiles is tired of Derek's shit (I mean really, WTF? Derek is a moody SOB), and where Stiles takes charge. Hope you like this. I've chosen to ignore some canon things like the fact that Stiles is a virgin and Derek is seeing Jennifer.

Stiles doesn't know why Derek even bothers coming over anymore. Things between them haven't been right in a while, not when Derek hides himself away and never shares anything. Sometimes Stiles thinks that if the alphas hadn't come to Beacon Hills things would be different. Confident Derek is better than worried Derek any day.

 

For what it's worth, Stiles isn't worried for Derek. He's worried about himself. Even with his threat against Ethan, he knows that his barely there knowledge of mountain ash, and mistletoe won't save him if the alphas want him dead. He knows Scott, and maybe Derek (if the asshole is around), wouldn't let anything happen to him, but he also knows that despite his charm and ingenuity he is still a squishy, breakable human.

 

He wouldn't trade being human for anything.

 

He worries about Scott, about what will happen if Scott can't come up with a master plan like last time. What will happen if Scott is too weak? What will happen if Scott realizes his true alpha potential? What will happen if he doesn't? He worries about Lydia too, because he misses the old her, the one who was only fazed by Jackson's weird love/hate feelings towards her. She's going through something too, and he doesn't know what, and even when he can spare the time to do research to try and figure out what is going on with her he can't seem to help her. He worries a little bit about Danny too, mostly because he knows Danny doesn't know how to protect himself against physical threats, and a little bit because he's not sure what kind of emotional damage Ethan can and probably will inflict when everything comes to an end. He worries about his dad.

 

He doesn't worry about Allison, or Isaac for that matter. He knows that either one of them could easily be a casualty, but they both have better fighting chances than him and he's used up most of his worrying capabilities.

 

So Stiles doesn't worry about Derek. He can't. He has faith that enough people are on Derek's side that when it comes down to it Derek will win. Between his uncle, who people forget is very much a snake in the grass (hopefully this does more harm to the alphas than to Derek), Scott, Cora, Isaac, and Stiles Derek has a fighting chance. And if he's emotionally scarred by the end and barely resembles who he once was- well, that wouldn't be so different from how he is now. Derek will never be the same after losing both Erica and Boyd, so it's not like Stiles has to worry about losing the old Derek. Overly confident, occasionally charming and sassy Derek is already gone.

 

Which is why it's kind of surprising that Derek is in his room now, leaning back against the window he had climbed through, watching Stiles on his bed.

 

Derek starts to talk but Stiles cuts him off with a “wait, wait, wait” and keeps tapping on his laptop. It doesn't matter if alphas are in town, he still has to do his homework. Unless someone is bleeding or dead. Stiles looks up at Derek. The alpha is visibly annoyed and avoiding eye contact, but it doesn't seem like he came over for any life or death reason. Laying on his stomach on his bed, Stiles turns back to his laptop.

 

Derek waits a few minutes before trying to talk again. Stiles shoots him an incredulous how-dare-you-interrupt-me look before cutting him off again. “I need to finish this by morning, okay Derek? I have to maintain at least some semblance of caring for school.” Stiles considers adding something bitter about how his grades are the only thing going for him at this point, but he stops himself.

 

“I'm surprised you still bother with school,” Derek says.

 

Stiles doesn't respond. Partly because he doesn't actually want to have a conversation with Derek, but also because he's not sure he wants to admit to himself that sometimes he thinks school is just how he pretends to himself that one day he can have a normal life. So he keeps writing, and in a few minutes Derek uncomfortably shifts and moves to sit in Stiles' desk chair. Stiles doesn't even look up. It's 12:45. Must. Finish. Paper.

 

Stiles finishes and glosses over it. He trusts himself enough to know that it doesn't need any heavy editing, so he saves it and closes his laptop. He rests his head down on his forearms. Ouch, he can feel the muscles in his back stretching out after tightly working to hold him up. He groans and turns his head to look at Derek in time to see Derek adjusting himself in his pants.

 

“I'm not fucking you,” Stiles says.

 

Derek gives him a look. One eyebrow cocked as if to say he can't believe Stiles just said that. Stiles remembers that look from last spring when Derek said he was going to go in to the sheriffs office and Stiles asked if he was going to punch her. Stiles kind of misses that look. Misses Derek giving him looks that tell him he thinks Stiles is crazy.

 

“What makes you think I came here for that?” Derek asks.

 

Stiles ignores the question. Derek knows damn well that he only visits Stiles in his room for two reasons, and one of them is sex. “You took off for days and didn't tell anyone where you were going. My dad is down the hall. I have to be up at the ass-crack of dawn for school tomorrow. I had to write seven pages today for class. Even if I wanted to fuck, I doubt I have anything left in me.”

 

Not true. Derek and Stiles had been fucking less and less. Stress and near death experiences not being a turn on for either one of them. Plus, Derek initiated- not Stiles. It was like a weird unspoken rule between them. Derek initiated, Derek came on to Stiles, not the other way around. And Stiles was fine with that, but it meant that when Derek let things dry up between them he couldn't expect to just waltz back and Stiles would be waiting cock at the ready, even if he had plenty saved up for the occassion.

 

Stiles missed sex with Derek though. He missed the roughness of it, the way Derek knew what he was doing and took what he wanted. He missed how afterwards Derek always let down his guard a little and would answer a question Stiles had. Have you found anything new about where Erica and Boyd could be? Why do you think the bite didn't change or kill Lydia? Do you think Peter has a plan to take back his alpha station?

 

Stiles and Derek weren't dating. That was fine with Stiles too. Derek was too secretive, too much of a loner. Stiles didn't need to be in a relationship with someone with as many issues as Derek. There wasn't enough room in Derek's life for Stiles.

 

Stiles does have it in him to fuck Derek though, he just doesn't feel like it. He doesn't feel like going to school tomorrow wondering if the evil twins can smell Derek on him, doesn't feel like waiting for Derek not to tell him anything again because for the love of god Derek hasn't told him jack shit in months.

 

And Stiles sure as hell doesn't feel like giving it up to Derek who has given him the cold shoulder for weeks and weeks, and then just waltzes back in like nothing happened.

 

Stiles raises his eyebrows and juts out his chin when Derek doesn't say anything. He's about to tell him to get his little werewolf ass out of his bedroom when Derek stands up and crosses the room in quick strides. Stiles sits up a little in surprise which makes it easier for Derek to grab his shoulder and roll him onto his back. Derek straddles Stiles' tiny hips, the bulge in Derek's pants noticeable. Stiles balls his hands into fists, but Derek grabs his wrists and pushes them over his head and into the bed. Stiles hopes Derek's hard-on is at least uncomfortable.

 

Stiles is pissed, it's all over his face. Derek tries to memorize his features because it's been awhile since he's really been able to look at Stiles. Derek won't tell Stiles that he thinks he looks good with long hair, or that he likes the curve in his nose. Stiles' nostrils flare in anger, and his upper lip curls slightly like he's going to snarl and Derek kind of wishes he could see that because it would be so wolf-like.

 

“I'm not going to beg, Stiles,” Derek says as he squeezes Stiles' wrists. “I'm not going to apologize either. I'm not going to tell you you're pretty and that I need you.”

 

“If you think that's what I want then it's obvious how much you really don't know me,” Stiles snarls.

 

Derek doesn't respond. He doesn't know Stiles, not really, Stiles still manages to surprise him every time they interact. Stiles is a mystery. Derek doesn't know what Stiles wants, most of the time he doesn't care.

 

“I know you're stressed out. I know you aren't getting any. I know that for a little while we can forget all the shit that is happening,” Derek says.

 

“Shut up,” Stiles almost shakes with anger. He wants to tell Derek that just because he says jump doesn't mean Stiles is going to ask how high. He wishes he could summon the strength to push Derek off of him. He can't to help it though when he leans up to catch Derek in a kiss. He bites Derek's bottom lip, hard, not at all in a flirty playful way but more in a “I fucking hate you but need to fuck you” kind of way. Stiles can feel Derek's stubble against his chin and his cheeks every time one of them turns and twists. Derek moves his hands from Stiles' wrists to his face, pinning his head to the bed so that he can shoved his tongue in his mouth. Derek wants to run his tongue over Stiles' tongue, lick the top of his mouth, growl into his mouth, but Stiles sucks and bites that tongue so Derek knows he isn't playing. Hands grab Derek's waist and tug at his black tee.

 

Derek sits up, and for a second Stiles catches him giving him a curious look, as if this pissed off biting Stiles is strange to him. Derek pulls off his shirt and starts on his pants. He moves off of Stiles in order to get his pants and boxer briefs off and to kick off his boots and socks. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Stiles pull off his shirt and Derek want to be back on top of him licking his smooth chest, sucking his nipples, dragging his teeth over his ribs where Stiles has three moles that form more of a line than a triangle.

 

Derek barely has his pants off before Stiles is on top of him. Stiles' pants are still on, which is unfortunate, but his stomach grinds against Derek's hard cock and it almost seems like enough. Derek spreads his legs and wraps them around Stiles waist. Grabbing Stiles' hair and pulling him in for another kiss seems like a great idea, until Stiles bites him again, deeply and drawn out. Derek growls, and pulls Stiles away by his hair.

 

“Is this how it's going to be? You're just going to fight me the entire way?” Derek asks.

 

Stiles pushes his hand flat over Derek's mouth. “Shut. Up.” Stiles is still angry, still pissed, still wonders if saying no would have had more of a hold on Derek than saying yes, but he wants to say yes. He wants to fuck Derek though, wants to possess the part of him that wants Stiles. Stiles knows he can't actually leave marks on Derek, but he can try. With every move that hurts Derek Stiles shows him it's not that easy to just walk back like nothing happened.

 

Stiles grinds his stomach against Derek's stomach. He uses the hand not covering Derek's mouth to grab Derek's ass and squeeze the hard muscle. “Shut up,” he says again, and Derek growls behind Stiles' hand and it's like Stiles can feel it shooting straight into his cock. He's about to pull his hand away and devour Derek's mouth again when the werewolf licks his hand.

 

It takes Stiles a second to realize that's what Derek did. When he does though, it seems like an invitation. Stiles pushes his fingers against Derek's lips, maybe it's because he's surprised but Derek opens his mouth to take in two fingers. “Suck,” Stiles commands, and when Derek hesitates he squeezes hard with the hand still grabbing Derek's ass until he can feel Derek's tongue slide over the dip between his fingers, his mouth sucking so that Stiles can feel the hot, wet pulsing of his cheeks.

 

Derek doesn't suck Stiles' cock. Derek's never initiated that and Stiles never asked. Stiles doesn't know why, maybe Derek hates sucking cock or maybe he has an aversion to the taste of rubber condom or maybe he thinks the act is beneath him, whatever, but it's like he's giving Stiles' fingers a blowjob and Stiles wonders if this is the limit or if Derek would suck his cock if he told him to.

 

Stiles manages to sit up so that he can pull down the loose, plaid pants he's wearing. He watches as Derek's eyes flicker towards his crotch, and Stiles wants to ask him what his deal is. Wants to ask him all the questions he never dares ask him, like does Derek like guys or is Stiles just a fluke? How many guys has he been with? Does he always bottom? Does the idea of cock drive him crazy like it drives Stiles crazy?

 

Stiles fucks Derek's mouth a few times with his fingers, but he can see something shift on Derek's face that tells him he doesn't like it. 'This must be the limit,' Stiles thinks and he pulls his fingers away and puts his hand on his cock. He groans and smears the quickly drying saliva on the head of his cock, and pumps his fist down. He can imagine for a second what it would be like having Derek's mouth on his cock, hard dick pushing down the back of Derek's throat until Derek needs to come up for air and licks and sucks Stiles balls before deep-throating again and burying his nose in Stiles' pubes. Then the image is gone, back to reality where he's jerking himself off between Derek's spread thighs. Stiles looks at Derek's cock, bigger than his own, but not as sensitive and flopped to the side. Neat pubic hair, sexy happy trail, and an asshole begging for Stiles' cock.

 

If Derek lived for deep-throating and wasn't such an ass he'd be perfect.

 

“Fuck me,” Derek says. He growls when he sees Stiles roll his eyes. He sits up a little, grabs the back of Stiles neck and pulls him in closer. “Just fuck me, Stiles.”

 

Stiles rubs his cock against Derek's as he leans over to grab lube and a condom from his bedside table. He fists both their cocks, and pumps his hips. “Fuck yourself,” he says as he pushes the lube into one of Derek's hands, and pushes the other hand away from his neck. He digs his hips into Derek's and watches the alpha grimace, lips curled, teeth visibly clenched, that's Derek's fucking face.

 

If Stiles is going slower than usual it's only because he wants to torment Derek. Derek who is so quickie-then-gone most times. Derek who thinks of getting fucked like going to battle, all quick, pain to be expected, holding up at least part of his mask. Derek has to maintain some sort of macho bullshit, he can't let himself be fucked slow. Can't let a tongue and fingers slowly stretch him open, can't let Stiles fuck him slow, can't let Stiles have him on his back or knees for very long.

 

Stiles barely has the condom on before Derek is wrapping his slippery, lubed hand up and down his cock. Stiles can feel Derek's heels digging into his backside, pulling him closer. Stiles can't help it though, he's still mad, still pissed. He braces his hands against the headboard and looks down at Derek's face. He wonders if Derek even bothered trying to lube and stretch his asshole, or if he's as much after the pain as he's after the pleasure.

 

“Tell me what you want,” Stiles says. He's not sure what he expected, anger, exasperation, frustration, outright refusal, but Derek just looks hesitant and a little bit like he's considering just ignoring Stiles and impaling himself on Stiles' dick either way.

 

“I'm not going to beg,” Derek says, eyes narrowed and suspicious.

 

Stiles is pretty sure that ninety-nine percent of Derek's problems stem from his pride, but that's a conversation for another day. “I'm not telling you to beg. I'm telling you to tell me what you want. What made you come here after weeks of staying away? Describe it to me.”

 

Derek grits his teeth. “I came so you could fuck me.” A pause. If Derek thinks that's going to be enough to satisfy Stiles he's wrong, and Stiles is willing to wait. “I want your cock in my ass... I want to feel it stretching me out and filling me up. I want to feel the burn of your cock ramming in over and over again, want to come around your dick. Are you happy?”

 

Stiles shakes his head no and lines the head of his dick up with Derek's ass. He pushes the head in slow, watching as Derek's eyes twist shut. Stiles shoves himself fully into Derek. He wants to shout, Derek is impossibly tight, but he groans instead. He can feel Derek's ass working to push him out and pull him in at the same time. He listens to Derek growl slightly, and has to fight to keep himself from coming undone at the heat and tightness gripping his cock.

 

He waits until he isn't right on the brink before sitting up a little. Hands under Derek's knees he pushes his legs up so that he can fuck Derek like he wants, like they both need. Derek's face is distorted from pleasure and the slight pain he craves. He reaches his hand down to jerk his cock and Stiles knows it won't be long before Derek is coming, growling and shaking, tensing and pulsing.

 

“Harder,” Derek growls.

 

“Shut up.”

 

Stiles doesn't pant exactly, but his breathing gets quick and rough and he's trying not to say anything because he knows Derek is going to a place where he can't really process words, so Stiles just tries to hold on. He quickens his pace, feels his balls tighten like they are about to burst. He's torn between watching the great Derek come undone and closing his eyes because he'll last longer if he isn't watching Derek's muscles tense, isn't watching the way sweat pools on his collarbone, isn't watching Derek's tight grip move the foreskin of his cock up and down the head.

 

Derek's eyes are shut, and he chokes out random syllables. Stiles watches, one of them has to watch, how his cock disappears into Derek's ass over and over again. Stiles knows when Derek's about to come so he fucks him harder, deeper, forgoes rhythm in an attempt to give Derek what he came for and make the night unforgettable, and oh god, Derek's coming and Stiles has to watch because the muscles in Derek's neck bulge and his ass squeezes Stiles' cock so hard he thinks he might lose it as Derek shoots streaks of come onto his chest and stomach.

 

Stiles drops Derek's legs and leans over Derek. He fists the pillow beneath them and manages a few more sloppy thrusts before he comes. He tries to choke back the sound, but he gasps and groans into Derek's neck.

 

One second, two seconds, three seconds. Stiles is aware that Derek is still breathing heavy and hasn't thrown him off yet. All the reasons why he's pissed at Derek come flooding back to him and he pulls his softening cock out of Derek and proceeds to take off the condom and throw it away.

 

Derek watches. He watches Stiles fleshy, soft ass grind as he walks over towards his desk to throw the condom away. He watches as Stiles walks back, cock limp, body sweaty, Derek's come on his stomach from lieing on top of Derek. For a second Derek feels guilty because Stiles is so obviously young, but he tells himself that if Stiles wasn't doing it with him he'd be doing it with someone else.

 

Derek rolls out of Stiles' bed and looks for his clothes. His ass aches and he can feel the tacky, thick lube smeared between his cheeks. He wonders if Stiles is watching, and he remembers vaguely a time when Stiles said he loved Derek's ass. When he's dressed he turns to see Stiles glaring at him, still naked, just standing on the other side of the bed with his arms crossed.

 

Derek sneers at Stiles, “if you're still pissed off-”

 

“Just remember,” Stiles says, cutting him off.

 

Derek swallows. Part of him likes the Stiles that doesn't take any crap, part of him hates him. “Remember what?”

 

“Remember why you come here,” Stiles says before climbing into his bed. He rolls over, turning his back on Derek. “It shouldn't be another seven weeks before I see you again.”

 

Derek can't think of anything to say. He turns off the light and crosses the bedroom in the dark, climbs back out the window, and wonders when Stiles changed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, the sex scene in this one seems ridiculously long, and I don't know if that's okay or if it's going to lose your attention so I would appreciate any feedback on that. Also, I don't know why it keeps happening but I swear I don't have a thing for Naked Bottom, Clothed Top, lol.

Stiles wasn't heartbroken when it had been a week and he still hadn't seen Derek. Well, to be fair he saw him once, but with Scott, Allison, and Isaac there too it hardly counted. He wasn't devastated when all through the second week the only time he saw Derek was to discuss the alpha situation. Stiles figured that Derek probably didn't need to get screwed because he was already royally fucked what with the current situation being what it was. Stiles wasn't crushed when it had been nearly three weeks and Derek still hadn't climbed through his window.

Stiles was pissed.

It's not like he and Derek had scheduled dates or anything. Over the summer things had been weird, Derek was dealing with the loss of Erica and Boyd, but somehow he still managed to see Stiles at least once a week, usually twice. They would have actual conversations, and while Derek was by no means sweet on Stiles, he was much more pleasant. If Stiles had to scream a little bit about what a complete and useless tool his boss was, Derek would sit on the edge of Stiles' bed, watch the teen pace, and occasionally smirk and tell Stiles that if he couldn't handle being ridden hard by his boss he should just quit.

It's hard to believe that once upon a time Derek had been funny. Snide, but funny.

It's not like Stiles didn't find things to do with the time he was no longer spending on Derek. He was researching psychic this, psychic that, druid this, druid that, sacrifice this, sacrifice that, it was a never ending daisy chain of things he didn't know enough about, and needed to know ASAP. It didn't help that Derek was an absent resource, and Peter and Allison's grandfather were both unreliable sources of information. Stiles considered calling on Deaton again, but he figured that Scott was handling interrogating emissaries just fine without him.

Lydia had untapped potential, but until he figured out how to reach her and convince her to embrace whatever it was, she was off limits. Their spat at the Hell Motel had damaged things between them and he had a feeling she would sooner just embrace bliss ignorance than talk to him about what was actually going on with her.

So Stiles had grumpily thrown himself into research because while Allison, Scott, and Derek were all apparently working their own angles, someone had to do actual book research. It was a self-appointed task that he was happy with.

He had given up on that self-appointed task at around 10:30pm and was currently shooting his bedroom window dirty looks as a werewolf climbed through it. A mantra ran through Stiles' head desperately begging Derek to trip, fall, stumble, something that would break through the usual agile way Derek entered Stiles' room. It didn't happen though, and instead Derek landed gracefully inside, though soaking wet.

“It's raining out,” Stiles says.

“You think?” Derek cocks just one eyebrow.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You know climbing through my window and drenching my carpet isn't exactly sexy. Maybe next time you could try, I don't know, a leather jacket, or a tight shirt, or _something_.” Stiles pulls away from his desk and walks over to his bureau to pull out a towel. Under his breath he mutters, “pulling that stick out of your ass might work.”

Derek narrows his eyes at Stiles and tucks his chin. “It seems like you're the one with the stick up your ass.”

Stiles just smiles and punts the towel at Derek's face, but Derek manages to catch it. The werewolf glares at Stiles before looking away and rubbing the towel over his head to dry his hair. Stiles returns to his desk having resolved not to talk to Derek, but he can't help himself, talking is what he does best so he spins around in his chair to start in. “You want to know why I have a stick up my ass? It's called Derek. Did you know that? I named the stick in my ass after you! Because it's been almost three goddamn weeks, my world is crashing around me, my friends are all in danger, and you just dropped off the face of the planet _again._ ” Stiles shakes his head, nostrils flaring.

Derek just turns slowly to look at Stiles. He wants to shake the teen, wants to punch him and tell him that if he can't handle Derek being Derek than maybe they should just end this little thing between them. Problem is he thinks Stiles may take him up on that, partly because Stiles is stubborn, but also because they both know that this game they play was never going to last anyways.

“I'm here aren't I?” Derek says.

Stiles glares at Derek, if looks could kill that look would be a lethal weapon. “Once a week,” Stiles says, catching Derek off guard. “You come here once a week and maybe I won't have such a stick up my ass.”

Derek wants to ask if it's an ultimatum, but he also doesn't really want to know. Part of him wants to ask the teen where he gets off making demands, part of him wonders if it's worth it to just make sure to come once a week so he doesn't have to deal with a pissy Stiles. He thinks about negotiating for once every two weeks but negotiations seem beneath him and he can hear Stiles crossing the room to stand beside him, and hold up his hand “I'll put your clothes in the dryer.”

Derek frowns at the teen before pulling off his leather jacket and reaching behind his head to pull off his black teeshirt. If Stiles is affected by Derek's physique he doesn't show it. Derek reaches for his jeans and watches as Stiles stare seems to waiver.

Stiles was starting to reconsider his plan. Not that he had a plan laid out, just that he intended for Derek to be at least someone miffed by Stiles blatantly demanding he take off his clothes. Perhaps he should have stayed at his desk and just ignored Derek, being ignored would have certainly pissed him off.

Derek was peeling off clothes, kicking off boots, and down to his underwear in no time and looking awfully smug about it. He hands the wet clothes to Stiles who takes them and then looks down at Derek's crotch. “Are you just going to hang out in my room in soaking wet underwear?” Stiles asks.

Being completely naked while Stiles got to keep his clothes seemed unnecessary and made Derek feel just the tiniest bit vulnerable, but backing down seemed like a worst response. Derek looped his thumbs in his boxers and tugged, feeling the wet fabric peel away from his ass and cock. He bends to pick them up and pushes them into Stiles's hands with a “happy?”

Stiles ignores him and turns towards the door. Derek can hear him walk down the hall and then down the stairs. He can't hear anyone else in the home; Sheriff Stilinski must be out working. Derek turns to examine Stiles' room. It isn't large, but the layout of it between the bureau, bed, and desk means that there is a lot of floor space. Derek doesn't recognize the deco on his wall, nor does he recognize any of the books on his bookshelf. They all seem weirdly random, books about plains, gorillas, fantasy novels, comic books- because Stiles had to know a little bit about everything. At the end of the top shelf there was a rather large scrapbook, but Derek knew better than to touch that. He knew Stiles had lost his mother, and while it was probably the only thing they had in common the subject was still very much off limits.

Derek relocates the towel to his waist and turns around as Stiles walks back into the room. Stiles scratches at his nose and then gestures with his hands, “well, are you going to come on to me or what?”

Derek rolls his eyes. Why can't anything ever happen naturally between the two of them? He likes to think it's because Stiles is awkward as fuck, but maybe if they were even the least bit compatible things would just flow better. No, that's not true. Things used to flow better before, back when Stiles was happy to see him. There had been one day, when Stiles and Derek hadn't seen each other for a while and Stiles was particularly close to giving his boss a tongue lashing, that Derek didn't even have a foot in the room before Stiles was on him. Fists twisted in his shirt, tongue in his mouth, and an eager Stiles trying to press as much of their bodies together as possible.

Derek wants that back, that... passion didn't seem like the right word, too romantic, but that _need_. The sense of urgency, the if-I-don't-fuck-you-now-I'm-going-to-explode. What had he done before to get Stiles worked up like that? Or was it merely that Stiles' libido had taken a hit from being surrounded by death and bombarded with threats of bodily injury?

Derek scowls and practically leaps the distance between them. He grabs Stiles by the waist and pushes him onto the bed, and Stiles' shirt rides up to expose his stomach. Derek straddles his waist like last time and nips at Stiles' pouting lips. If Stiles wants to fight, they can fight.

* * *

 

This time it doesn't take Derek a week to visit Stiles. He feels like the world is trying to smother him. There's no chance to breathe, no break from the onslaught of chaos. He just wants to feel numb, wants his brain to be numb. An hour with Stiles and he can put everything on pause and just be.

Maybe it's because Derek is back early, or maybe something good is just going on in Stiles' life, but Stiles is surprisingly enthusiastic. He used to be this way before, thrilled to be having sex even if he couldn't tell anyone about it.

So Stiles is on his knees, wearing everything but his shirt despite the fact that that is way too much clothes for the occasion, and sucking Derek's cock down the back of his throat. Derek watches as Stiles sinks his mouth lower, his tongue twisting around and teasing it to full erection.

If Stiles has an aversion to the taste of rubber or cheap lube he doesn't show it. Derek told him that his heightened immune system didn't allow for diseases, but Stiles just said that he had made some sort of pledge during sex ed, and that besides, condoms made it seem dirtier (in a good way), like Stiles didn't really know where Derek had been.

Except Stiles had at least an idea since he knew about Kate. Derek grimaces. Thinking of Kate now was a bad idea. He focuses on Stiles who is playing with his balls while flicking his tongue over the head. Derek hisses through clenched teeth. He rocks his hips forward, but Stiles just pulls his head away.

Stiles spits in his hand and uses it to pump Derek's dick. He looks puzzled, or concerned, neither of which are a good sign when someone is handling your dick, but Derek recognizes it as a Stiles trying to figure out if it was the right time, or the wrong time to bring something up. Derek clenches the edge of the bed and tries to pump his dick into those tight hands. He knows that if Stiles doesn't just say it now he'll spend the rest of their get-together trying to figure out if it was a good time to bring it up.

“What?” Derek asks.

Apparently Stiles doesn't need more than that. “I have this thing about sucking cock.”

Derek nods to show that he's listening, even though his eyes are closed and he's tilting his head back as Stiles twists the fist around him. “I like sucking cock. No, I love it. A lot. Maybe more than I should, maybe more than anyone should.” He brought his mouth back down and took Derek's cock in one motion. It felt like Stiles' throat was just giving way, and Derek wanted to grab his hair and forced him there, keep him there, make his dick slide all the way down the back of Stiles' throat, but Stiles pulls back. “But when I suck dick it's like it's not even about the other person, it's all about me. It's about how much I want to take, how fast I want to go, how long I want to draw it out- not what you want. So all you need to do is hold still.”

Derek doesn't know what Stiles is talking about. It's all just nonsense and gibberish. He looks down at the teen, saliva smeared on his chin and hair tussled from running his hands through it. Stiles briefly looks up at him before lowering his mouth again. Stiles licks Derek's ball, drags his tongue up the underside, and then his mouth is back on him, sucking him down, cheeks squeezing and milking Derek's cock. Stiles can take most of it except for the last inch, Derek can't help it, he pulls his hand away from the edge of the bed and tries to hold Stiles' head so that he can push that last inch into wet heat.

Stiles' mouth and hands disappear entirely and Derek feels the sharp pain of Stiles biting his thigh. It's more than a nip, Stiles apparently bites like he sucks cock- cramming his mouth with as much as he can take. Derek growls, eyebrows furrowed and teeth showing as he looks at the circular bite mark Stiles has left. “What was that for?” Derek seethes.

“I swear, it's like you don't ever listen.”

Derek's head is cloudy from the arousal, and he can barely think. Stiles stands up and pushes Derek backwards onto the bed. Derek snarls, grabs Stiles by the hair, and pull him down so that he can search his mouth with his tongue. The taste of rubber and lube lingers on his tongue, and it seems almost bad enough that Derek can't taste himself in Stiles mouth but to have Stiles stop because Derek was too grabby, when apparently Stiles doesn't mind anymore, is ridiculous.

Stiles pulls away. “All you have to do is stay still,” he says as he moves away to grab some lube. Stiles reaches to undo his pants as he kisses Derek again. He frees his dick so that he can rub it alongside Derek's even though the saliva is drying off the condom making it uncomfortable. Their mouths are barely pulled apart, Stiles' lips just barely brushing against Derek's, when Stiles tells Derek to fist his hands in the bed and not move.

Alarm bells go off in Derek's head, and even though he tries desperately to fight the thought he can't help but think of Kate, Kate who directed him, lead him, taught him. Kate who strung him up and tortured him. It's an unfair comparison, but one he can't keep himself from making. _“Don't move,” she'd say._

Derek's body tenses and he catches the way Stiles look at him, like he's just discovered a weird sort of cause and effect. Stiles has that look back on his face, like he wants to ask but he doesn't dare. Derek doesn't want to invite questions, he wants Stiles to do what Stiles does best- distract him. Derek leans up and licks Stiles' mouth, it's a playful gesture that surprises Stiles at first but then makes him smile.

Derek resolves not to move as Stiles slides down his body and takes Derek's cock back into his mouth. Derek's heels scrape against the carpeted floor, and when he feels Stiles lick the spot behind his balls and rub a lubed finger against his ass he moves his hips just the slightest bit before forcing himself to still. His cock reverberates as Stiles hums around it, like he's signaling his approval.

Derek can feel Stiles rubbing, circling, pushing gently with his finger at his hole. He wants to tell Stiles to just get it over with, but he figures that talking somehow breaks the command to stay still. He can feel Stiles pushing in in rhythm to the bobs of his head, and he wonders if squeezing around Stiles' finger is considered cheating.

This isn't the way he likes it, slow, methodical, gentle. He has to wonder if Stiles knew that, or if he didn't could he tell now? He can't really see the appeal for Stiles, since his cock must be aching and his jaw will be aching tomorrow. Maybe this is some sort of new torture method. Derek had built up a tolerance to Stiles' constant chatter so he needed a new way to tweak Derek.

Another bite to his thigh and Derek had to suck in a breath. _Damn_ , Stiles bites hard, but it makes more blood rush to Derek's cock and it eases the frustration at being slowly finger-fucked. He can hear Stiles groaning, probably biting his bottom lip, and Derek looks down his body he sees Stiles working his mouth all the way down his cock. His nose with the perfect little schwoop in it buries in Derek's pubes and he can feel Stiles throat fighting the onslaught and he wishes he could shoot into that perfect throat because _fuck_ the kid can suck cock.

Stiles recognizes Derek as being way to close and eases off. Derek can feel his balls tighten, the muscles in his hands burning from the strength he's channeling into just holding on. It's unsettling when he realizes that Stiles is fucking him with a second finger, one that he didn't even notice, but at the same time he's tempted to tell the teen to stop because even without Stiles' mouth on him Derek could still come undone just from the feeling of being stretched, and pushed. Stiles has a way of pushing his fingers up and into Derek's body making Derek just want to rock back on those fingers.

“You're so fucking hot, you know that right?” Stiles says but Derek can barely hear him because the smell of sweat and precome and Stiles' deodorant all make him a little lightheaded. Stiles can do that, make him lightheaded, make him go to a place that other people can't. He doesn't know how Stiles does it, how he can just talk and think and be fucking but still be fully in his own head. If Stiles continues he can't hear him because another finger pushes in and he _hates_ how easy it is, how the lube has made him all slippery, and how Stiles can spend time teasing him and preparing him when what he really wants is the burn.

He hates how compliant he is in his own torture.

Another bite, but this time to the other thigh, and then Stiles is leaning over him, pushing into him, and telling him he can move. Derek growls and tries to pull himself up, tries to find Stiles' mouth because it's his turn to be angry and bite back. He grabs the back of his own knee and pulls his leg up, feels the angle shift and Stiles is pounding deeper into him, balls slapping against his ass. The stupid condom is still on him but he doesn't have a free hand to take it off because his other hand is tangled in Stiles' hair and Stiles is cursing into his mouth, his thrusts unsteady and Derek is coming. He has to bite down to keep from making the noises that want to tear from his mouth because it feels like ages since they began and all he needed was for Stiles to be inside him so that he could finally come.

He's vaguely aware of Stiles' sloppy thrusts, and the short breaths against his neck. He feels Stiles shake above him, tense before fully collapsing his weight onto him.

Derek can appreciate Stiles for a moment. The way he's changed from awkward gropes and inexperience to doing whatever he wants in bed without much hesitation, the way he comes so hard that Derek wonders how the teen can even move afterward. He can smell blood and he cringes for a second, realizing he must have cracked Stiles' lip with a nip. Stiles doesn't seem to notice, doesn't seem bothered by the intense hair pulling either.

Derek can appreciate Stiles' nerves.

Derek doesn't move. He lets Stiles' cock soften inside of him until the teen works up the strength to pull out and roll out of bed. The kid is so predictable. Stiles pulls off his own condom, ties it off and tosses it in his trash before walking back towards Derek. “Need help?” he asks, pointing to the condom about to fall of Derek's now limp dick. He doesn't say anything, just watches him take it, tie it off, and throw it away.

When Stiles doesn't turn around Derek knows he's going to ask him something. He closes his eyes and pulls himself farther up the bed. He never stays the night, but before he used to stay for a little while afterward. He didn't last time, or the time before, but his arms still sort of ache and if Stiles can manage to talk despite all that his mouth has done today then maybe he deserves to have his question answered. That's what he does after all, wait until Derek is tired and sated to ply information from him.

The bed creaks as Stiles climbs onto it. Derek can feel the heat pulsing off of him. He knows if he looked at him he would see smooth skin, moles in perplexing places and arrangements, split lip and light muscles. A body so different from his own.

“Why don't you suck cock? Or is it just mine you don't suck?”

If Derek was expecting a particular question, it wasn't this one. He cringes slightly. He hoped Stiles hadn't noticed, or that the teen would be too shy to ask- he should have known that both were stupid to think. He tries to think of an acceptable answer.

“Don't lie.”

That surprises Derek. He's never lied to Stiles during their post-fucking Q&A sessions and he wonders if the pause before answering revealed that he was trying to think of an answer.

“I don't like it,” he says because it's sort of the truth.

“Have you ever tried it?”

Derek holds back a sigh. “No.”

“Then how do you know you don't like it?”

He turns to eye Stiles, one eyebrow arched. “If you've never fucked a donkey, how do you know you wouldn't like it?”

“Blowjobs and fucking donkeys are two very different things.

Derek just shrugs, he has zero experience with both so for all he know they could be.

Derek can feel Stiles staring at him, and he wants to tell him to let it go, because isn't what they do good enough even if Derek doesn't blow him? Isn't it enough to get to fuck him? He can practically hear the gears in Stiles head whirring and if the perceptive brat doesn't clue in he will probably think up something much worse.

“It's not like I run around screwing people. For me it's like... it's about seeing how much I can take, how much I can handle, it's about slipping away into a different head space.” He sighs and rolls out of bed, “I can't get what I need if I'm on my knees trying to slurp down dick.”

Stiles looks away, shrugs, and rolls onto his back. Derek slows as he's pulling up his pants and glares at him. If the chatty little monster thinks that's a challenge then he has another thing coming to him. He finds the rest of his clothes and pulls them on. He's two steps towards the door but he feels like he should say something.

“Make sure the twins don't smell me on you tomorrow.” It's unnecessary, whatever Stiles does to thwart werewolf noses is apparently powerful because even Scott hasn't noticed, but Derek says it all the same before climbing out the bedroom window.


End file.
